Taken Over by the Billionaire(60)

‘She is a tramp!’ he gritted out, his Sicilian accent becoming more pronounced as his temper rose once again. ‘A precocious little tramp, who shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of decent society. When will you get it into your head, Michela, that Alannah Collins is—’

‘Whoops!’ A cool voice cut into his angry tirade and Niccolò turned to see a woman strolling into the room without bothering to knock and suddenly his words were forgotten. If somebody had asked him his name right then, he thought he might have trouble remembering it. And yet for a moment he almost didn’t recognise her—because in his memory she was wearing very little and the woman in front of him had barely an inch of flesh on show. It was the sound of her naturally sultry voice which kick-started his memory and his libido. But it didn’t take long for his eyes to reacquaint themselves with her magnificent body—nor to acknowledge the natural sensuality which seemed to shimmer from it in almost tangible waves.

She was wearing jeans and a white shirt with a high collar, but the concealing nature of her outfit did nothing to disguise the luscious curves beneath. Thick black hair like lustrous jet hung over her shoulders, and eyes the colour of denim were studying him with a hint of mockery in their depths. Niccolò swallowed. He had forgotten the pale creaminess of her complexion and the rosiness of her lips. He had forgotten that this half-Irish temptress with an unknown father could burrow underneath his skin, without even trying.

As she moved he could see the glitter of a little blue dragonfly brooch gleaming on her shirt-collar, which matched the amazing colour of her eyes. And even though he despised her, he could do nothing about the leap of desire which made his body grow tense. She made him think of things he’d rather not think about—but mostly she made him think about sex.

‘Did I just hear my name being taken in vain?’ she questioned lightly. ‘Would you like me to walk back out and come in again?’

‘Feel free to walk out any time you like,’ he answered coldly. ‘But why don’t you do us all a favour, and skip the second part of the suggestion?’

She tilted her chin in a way which made her black hair ripple down her back, like an ebony waterfall. But the smile she slanted at him didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘I see you’ve lost none of your natural charm, Niccolò,’ she observed acidly. ‘I’d forgotten how you could take the word “insult” and give it a whole new meaning.’

Niccolò felt a pulse begin to pound in his temple as his blood grew heated. But much worse was the jerk of lust which made his groin feel unbearably hard. Which made him want to crush his mouth down over her lips and kiss all those insolent words away and then to drive deep inside her until she screamed out his name, over and over again.

Damn her, he thought viciously. Damn her, with all her easy confidence and her louche morals. And damn those sinful curves, which would compel a grown man to crawl over broken glass just to have the chance of touching them.

‘Forgive me,’ he drawled, ‘but for a moment I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’

He saw the brief discomfiture which crossed her face and something primitive gave him a heady rush of pleasure to think that he might have touched a nerve and hurt her. Hurt her as she had once hurt his family and threatened to ruin their name.

But she turned the look into a bright and meaningless smile. ‘I’m not going to rise to that,’ she said as she turned instead to his sister. ‘Are you ready for your fitting, Michela?’

Michela nodded, but her eyes were still fixed nervously on Niccolò. ‘I wish you two could be civil to each other—at least until the wedding is over. Couldn’t you do that for me—just this once? Then you never need see one another again!’

Niccolò met Alannah’s speculative gaze and the thought of her smiling serenely in a bridesmaid gown made his blood boil. Didn’t she recognise that it was hypocritical for her to play the wide-eyed innocent on an important occasion such as this? Couldn’t she see that it would suit everyone’s agenda if she simply faded into the background, instead of taking on a major role? He thought of the powerful bridegroom’s elderly grandparents and how they might react if they realised that this was the same woman who had massaged her own peaking nipples, while wearing a dishevelled schoolgirl hockey kit. His mouth hardened. How much would it take to persuade her that she was persona non grata?

He flickered his sister a brief smile. ‘Why don’t you let Alannah and I have a word or two in private, mia sorella? And let’s see if we can sort out this matter to everyone’s satisfaction.’